The monstrosities that we commit as a matter of course, en passant, and, as it were, innocently, are no better, and perhaps even worse, than those committed in the name of some higher ideals, that is, pro bono humani generis, for the latter always, inescapably, surface as inhuman and contingent, while the former appear normal, humane, inconsequential, and thus inevitable. A germ and promise of the reptilian bliss resides in each and every member of the species: a Kolyma region in every frigid bosom, in every absentminded handshake, in every cheerful lie…